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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28285179">28. Box</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG/pseuds/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG'>TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Twinkstober 2020 [28]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bitterness, Bittersweet, Depression, Drabble, Growing Old, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Major Character Undeath, Memories, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Sad Jaskier | Dandelion, Survivor Guilt, Time to hurt the bard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:20:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>830</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28285179</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG/pseuds/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Twinkstober 2020<br/>Prompt: box</p><p>The years don't make it easier.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Twinkstober 2020 [28]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923553</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>122</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>28. Box</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I just took game and Netflix canon and threw it in a blender and this came out.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The box sits on his nightstand. Has for years now, ever since he settled down in Novigrad. It have been a few turbulent years, and Jaskier stares at that box sometimes, wishing he were something other than just a humble bard. Wishes he could alter the fabric of reality, of time and space the way Ciri supposedly can.</p><p>But he can't. He's just human, weak and alone, and sometimes he picks up the box and raises his hand, ready to smash it to bits, as though that would help.</p><p>Inside the box is everything he has left.</p><p>A silver medallion.</p><p>A lock of white hair.</p><p>That's all that remains of Geralt of Rivia, of the man Jaskier loved, loves, still, even after so many years.</p><p>His own hair is very nearly more grey than brown now that he is on the wrong side of fifty, and if Yennefer, the gods rest her soul, were to remark about his crow's feet today, he couldn't deny the truth of her words. He has grown old, has inherited a tavern in Novigrad of all the places on the continent, and has moved on with his life.</p><p>At least he tells himself he has.</p><p>But that box remains on his nightstand, and on nights when it's particularly bad, he curls up with the medallion's chain wrapped around his hand, the silver nestled into his palm, and cries himself to sleep.</p><p>Time heals all wounds, they say. Well, <em>they</em> are full of shit. This is not a wound that heals, it is one that festers, that oozes and turns him bitter and angry.</p><p>He still remembers the day Eskel had found him. He had been teaching in Oxenfurt, had been delighted to see the Witcher after such a long time. That had vanished like mist in the sun when he had seen the expression on Eskel's face.</p><p>A pogrom, Eskel said. A mob. A pitchfork through the back.</p><p>"He'd have wanted you to have this," Eskel said, and held out the little box.</p><p>Jaskier never saw a Witcher again after that. He doesn't know what happened to Eskel, to Lambert, to any of the remaining Witchers. Times have changed, and Jaskier has become a spectator.</p><p>Some days, he considers leaving. Packing up his things, letting Zoltan take care of the tavern, and just go back onto the road. See where it takes him. But he can't. He wouldn't make it far, not any more. He's not a young man, filled to the brim with confidence and a lust for life, a recklessness that had made him approach the one man in that fucking tavern in Posada who could have killed him between two breaths.</p><p>Instead he has become someone haunted by his past, by his choices and missed opportunities. By all the words that remained unsaid.</p><p>It's always the things we didn't do that hurt the most, Jaskier has found.</p><p>It's been years, and the pain doesn't go away, and Jaskier doesn't know how to deal with it. Instead, he focuses on the tavern, on keeping things running even when all he wants is to curl up in his bed and... <em>stop</em>. Just stop.</p><p>He doesn't want to die, he thinks, not really anyway. But he doesn't want to <em>be</em> <em>here</em> any more. The days drag on, every one the same, and he is so angry he could scream.</p><p>Then, somehow, the days aren't the same any more. Zoltan bursts into his room, eyes wide and a little wet, and Jaskier swallows down the noise of annoyance that sits in his throat. "What?"</p><p>"Come downstairs, right now."</p><p>Jaskier rubs his forehead, turns away. "I'm busy."</p><p>The dwarf huffs and grabs him by the hand, pulls him out of his chair. "Fuck that, you <em>want</em> to see this, believe me." And, ignoring Jaskier's protests, he drags him out of the room and down the stairs.</p><p>"Zoltan, I swear if this isn't important I'll-"</p><p>Jaskier loses his footing, the last step sliding out under his boot, and he falls heavily onto his arse.</p><p>Geralt is standing in the common room downstairs, arms crossed in front of his chest where he's leaning against a support beam.</p><p>Geralt is <em>alive</em>.</p><p>"What-"</p><p>"Hello, Jaskier," the Witcher says, and Jaskier swallows harshly.</p><p>"You're dead."</p><p>"I was," Geralt replies, as though that is a thing that just happens, as though people come back to life all the time.</p><p>Jaskier bursts into tears, and then Geralt is beside him on the stairs, an arm around his shoulders, and Jaskier cries until he can't any more.</p><p>Upstairs, he picks up the box. Holds it in his hands, runs his fingers along the familiar etchings. Then he holds it out to Geralt. "I believe this belongs to you."</p><p>Geralt takes the box in one hand and Jaskier's wrist in the other, and he pulls him close, and Jaskier thinks that, maybe, some wounds can heal after all even after they have festered for so long.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Come yell at me on <a href="https://twitter.com/formerly_as_g?s=09">Twitter</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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